


Aces Up Your Sleeve

by synergenic (Losseflame)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Reiner is a Good Ally, this pairing is so cute the size difference help me god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 21:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losseflame/pseuds/synergenic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re all soaked through with sweat and stink worse than corpses when Reiner notices the outline of something under Connie’s shirt, notices sort of that there’s a slight curve to his chest that wasn’t there before.  And Reiner isn’t particularly observant, so if he noticed he’s pretty fucking sure other people have too, and sure enough, when he swivels his head, he sees Thomas nudging Nic and gesturing to Connie with a tilt of his head.  They both snicker to each other, and Reiner feels his gut sour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aces Up Your Sleeve

They’re all soaked through with sweat and stink worse than corpses when Reiner notices the outline of something under Connie’s shirt, notices sort of that there’s a slight curve to his chest that wasn’t there before. And Reiner isn’t particularly observant, so if he noticed he’s pretty fucking sure other people have too, and sure enough, when he swivels his head, he sees Thomas nudging Nic and gesturing to Connie with a tilt of his head. They both snicker to each other, and Reiner feels his gut sour.

“The fuck are you inbreeds laughing at?” he snaps, and Bertholdt looks at Reiner with alarm. Reiner ignores him, continues to glare at Thomas and Nic until their laughter fades awkwardly and Thomas looks to the ground, kicking his heel into the dirt. Nic flushes. “Well?”

He doesn’t temper the growl.

“Nothing,” Nic mutters.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Reiner says, narrowing his eyes at them before he twists on his heel. Mercifully, Connie didn’t notice the exchange, scratching the small of his back and guzzling his water – stupid, Reiner has told them all _not_ to do that, for fuck’s sake – while watching Sasha and Mikasa’s strange, repressed mating ritual. Reiner walks to stand beside him.

Connie glances up, grins when he sees Reiner. “Hey, man.”

“Hey.” Reiner’s voice sounds slightly strangled, and is higher than it normally is. Connie’s grin falters.

“Reiner?”

“Your, um –” Reiner stutters as he speaks, wonders why he feels so damn _awkward_ about this. “Dude, your binding is slipping.”

Connie’s expression freezes, eyes going wide and filling with a sort of fear that strikes Reiner deep in the gut. He hates it when they have that look.

(He wonders why that look is so familiar to him.)

“It’s cool, man, just. Um.” Reiner gestures weakly at the forest they’re near, the 104th having sprawled out near it for their lunch break. “We can – if you want – so I can –”

Connie swallows harshly. He still looks terrified.

“It’s fine,” Reiner rushes to reassure him. “It’s totally fine, but I know that it can be hard to do it well by yourself so –”

“Okay,” Connie says almost soundlessly. He licks his lips. They look dry. Reiner wonders why he is looking at Connie’s lips so intently. “Okay, sure.”

“Okay,” Reiner repeats back to him. Idiotically. They both look at each other as they wait for the other person to start walking first, and Connie hesitates before he rocks on his heels and starts walking toward the cover of the trees. Reiner starts up behind him.

“Are you two gonna fu –” Jean’s yell starts, before cutting off as abruptly. Reiner looks over his shoulder to see Marco with his hand clamped over Jean’s mouth, tight enough his knuckles are white, and when their eyes meet Marco gives him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

Oh God.

Reiner may as well die.

When they’re deep enough in they can’t see any of their squad members, Connie looks to Reiner, sort of cautious, sort of expectant.

“You should probably –” Reiner flushes halfway through speaking. “You should probably take your shirt off.”

Connie looks caught off-guard, before he nods. “Yeah,” he mutters, moving slow and watching Reiner like he’s waiting for the switch to flip.

“It’s all good, Connie,” Reiner says, gaining confidence because he needs to, because someone needs to take care of them all. “I promise. I’m not gonna –” he waves his hands, hoping the message will get across.

Jerking his chin to the ground, Connie nods. “Okay,” he mouths. He doesn’t meet Reiner’s eyes as he slips off his shirt, leaving him in an undershirt that does little to cover his loosening binding. His hands shake as he reaches for the neckline, and Reiner realizes that he might be more comfortable if Reiner wasn’t goddamn _staring_ at him.

“Sorry,” Reiner barks, turning on his heels quickly.

“You’re gonna hafta look to fix it, anyway,” Connie mumbles, and Reiner hesitates before turning back around. The curve of Connie’s clavicle is undeniably feminine, the way his waist slopes in to slope out into gently rounded hips is, too, and Reiner understands better now why Connie always picks shirts a size too big. Connie looks down at himself, following Reiner’s gaze, and his jaw clenches, self-loathing blooming in his eyes.

“Don’t look at yourself like that,” Reiner says, and Connie frowns bemusedly at him.

“Like what?”

“Like – Never mind,” Reiner mutters, stepping forward and reaching his hands out. “Where are the pins?”

Connie lifts his left arm, and Reiner gently removes both of them, careful not to prick Connie’s skin. He drops them into his pocket for safekeeping. “Um,” he starts, holding the binding closed with his hands. “Are you okay with me –”

“Doesn’t matter if you see them, does it?” Connie asks, and there is a whole other question hidden under his words. A desperate question. Reiner swallows, wonders what kind of treatment Connie is used to.

“Not to me,” he replies. Connie’s breath hitches somewhat, and his eyes are all weirdly soft and bright when he looks at Reiner now.

“Then it doesn’t matter to me, either.”

The hugeness of what Connie is giving to him, what Connie is _trusting_ him with, overwhelms Reiner, and he’s abruptly terrified of fucking this up.

He isn’t sure what ‘this’ is anymore, either.

“Okay,” Reiner says, stupidly, and begins unwinding the fabric wrapped around Connie’s chest. Connie lifts his arms to make the process easier, and when he’s left bare his shoulders almost curve inward to protect himself. His eyes flicker up to Reiner. Reiner keeps his gaze solely on Connie’s faze, holds eye contact until Connie relaxes. Minutely, Connie nods. Reiner bobs his head as he steps back, feeling thick and clumsy for no discernable reason.

Connie’s tits are small, which is good, Reiner thinks, because that means Connie doesn’t have to strangle himself to press them flat. Sniffing, Reiner holds one end of the fabric under Connie’s arm, stretches it across his tits and manoeuvres the pile he’s holding in his other hand around Connie’s back. His palm brushes Connie’s shoulder blades. 

Connie gasps. Reiner does too.

Reiner goes slow, careful to keep any boob from squeezing out over the top or bottom, and he frowns intently as he works. He’s a binding master. The lord of binding things.

“How do you know how to do this?” Connie asks after some silence.

“Um,” Reiner starts, pretty sure it’s not his place to tell Connie that Annie is Annie but sometimes she’s Andreas, and that he and Bertholdt are generally the ones who help Andreas out with shit like binding and finding the right clothes and whatever. “I know some people. I have skills. I don’t know.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” Connie looks sheepish, the barest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. Reiner feels something fizzle out in his brain.

“No, it’s fine,” he rushes, tongue stumbling over the words. “It’s just – not really my shit to share, you know?”

“Yeah,” Connie says softly. “I know.”

And then Reiner feels like drinking acid, because of _course_ Connie knows.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” Reiner says abruptly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

At this, Connie fucking _giggles_ , which is – life-ruining, Reiner’s life is over – patting Reiner’s forearm. “I know that, man. You’re a good guy.”

Those words make something inside him clench, something twisted and complicated and enough like rejection writhing under his breastbone, and Reiner shrugs dismissively.

“Hey,” Connie says, reproachful. The hand he has on Reiner’s forearm tightens. “You are.”

“Thanks,” Reiner mutters, wishing he’d drop the subject. Frowning, his head tilting to the side, Connie studies him, but he doesn’t say anymore. “Arm up,” Reiner instructs.

Reiner pins the binding, running his fingers over it and slipping one under the edge to double-check that it isn’t too loose, isn’t too tight.

“It’s good,” Connie says. Reiner’s hand is still on his binding.

Stumbling back, Reiner clears his throat. “Good. That’s. Yeah.”

Connie smiles at him as he slips his undershirt back on, then the baggy t-shirt. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Reiner replies. “It really wasn’t, so. Yeah.”

Nodding, Connie looks at his feet, glances up to look at Reiner. “Yeah,” he says.

Reiner clears his throat.

“You know what, I’m sorry, I have to, sorry –” Connie rushes, and then he’s stepping close enough that Reiner can smell him, and then his hands are on Reiner’s shoulders, and then _holy shit_ Connie is kissing him, his lips are in contact with Reiner’s, they are kissing one another.

Reiner sucks in a gasp, fists his hands into Connie’s shirt and drags him slightly closer, stooping his neck to deepen the kiss.

“You two fuck _quietly_!” Jean’s voice booms out, before they hear a screech and the distinctive sound of someone being tackled.

Connie laughs into the kiss, and Reiner swallows it down.

**Author's Note:**

> lalala casually recycles ending lines because i suck at ending things doodoodoooo


End file.
